1911021494

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘This is Sorina,’ said Nadia. ‘That is Barbu. He has raped her.’

  The other man hovered in the background. He stood, his mouth open, watching the scene play out in front of him. The gap between his front teeth was unmistakable. Sophie pulled out her taser and smiled coolly at him.

  ‘Are you going to give us any problems?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Well, it’s nice to meet someone who’s so cooperative. Let me introduce myself. I’m Chief Inspector Sophie Allen. I’d like you to accompany us to the local police station, where I do believe you might be able to help us with our inquiries into a series of major crimes. And any help you do give us will, of course, be very much appreciated. Mr Smiffy, I believe.’ She turned to Marsh. ‘Just like that character from the Beano comic strip. Very original, aren’t they?’

  Two squad cars screeched to a halt beside the small group, followed by a van. The detectives left the two men in charge of the uniformed officers. Sophie watched the two Romanian girls, still hugging each other. Then she turned to her sergeant.

  ‘Barry, let’s get the heavy mob ready. I think we’ve just cracked it. All we need is an address . . . And look what we have here!’

  Sorina was holding out a small card printed with an address and several phone numbers. Marsh took it from her, looked at it and nodded.

  ‘Praise be. All my birthdays have come at once,’ said his boss.

  * * *

  It took less than twenty minutes to get the snatch squad in place. While they waited, Sophie got on the phone and arranged for a raid on the old cottage that had been the girls’ base over the previous few days. Nadia’s recent exposure to spoken English proved to be a real boon. She was able to translate Sorina’s description and give the local police a clear idea of the cottage’s whereabouts.

  The raid on the terraced house yielded up one man, a relative youngster. After a few minutes of angry bluster, he said little else. Catalina was in one of the bedrooms with a client. When she finally realised she was safe from her abusers, she burst into tears. Her client was led away for questioning.

  ‘Blast,’ Marsh said, as the detectives finally left the house. ‘None of the leaders yet. I hope we’re not going to be disappointed.’

  ‘Don’t panic, Barry,’ said Sophie. ‘It’ll all fall into place, trust me.’

  She looked strangely serene, almost distant.

  * * *

  They raided the cottage an hour later. The police snatch squad split into three small groups. Each approached the isolated building from a different direction, and each team was accompanied by a firearms officer. Sophie knocked on the door but there was no answer and no lights went on. The place looked deserted. Melsom emerged from one of the outhouses.

  ‘There’s a car parked beside one of the sheds.’

  A tall, burly sergeant pointed at the door. He raised a heavy ram that he had carried from his van. ‘Shall I?’ he asked.

  Sophie reached out and turned the handle. The door opened.

  ‘Sorry, Greg,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ll get another opportunity soon.’

  The team spread out, working its way slowly through the old building. They found some clothes and other items left by the young women, but the gang leaders had gone. They assembled in the large kitchen.

  ‘The stove has been on, ma’am,’ Marsh said, pointing across the room. ‘It’s still warm, and there are a few logs smouldering inside. Someone’s been here tonight.’

  ‘None of the guys we’ve taken in so far had a chance to use a mobile phone, did they?’ asked Sophie. ‘Am I right in that?’

  Everyone shook their heads.

  ‘So they are unlikely to have been warned.’ She turned to Melsom. ‘There are a couple of coats hanging up in the lobby. Can you bring them through, Jimmy?’

  Melsom returned with three, one of which was an expensive, man’s wool coat. Sophie felt through the pockets. She pulled out a mobile phone from a pocket on one side. It was still switched on. She felt the other side, slid her hand in carefully, and pulled out a handgun. She looked at Marsh.

  ‘I think there might be someone still here. The car, the phone, the stove, the mobile, and now this. They all point to it. And they couldn’t have done a runner even if we were seen arriving, not the way we came in — from behind the building as well as up the track. I want us to take another look, this time in every conceivable nook, cranny and hidey-hole. But we need to be careful. We mustn’t assume that this is the only gun. Check your vests and don’t take any chances.’

  The team spread out through the building. This time they opened all the cupboards and wardrobes. In the bathroom Pillay spotted a laundry chest, covered with an ornate rug. She tapped Sergeant Greg Buller on the shoulder and pointed at it. He positioned himself at one end, pointing his gun at the middle of the chest. Pillay crouched opposite him and opened the lid. Ricky Frimwell tried to jump out but Buller floored him with his fist. In seconds, Pillay had him handcuffed.

  Sophie was sitting at the large kitchen table when they brought him downstairs.

  ‘Well, well, well. Mr Smith. We met before at the old farm. When was that now? Goodness, exactly two weeks ago. Doesn’t time fly? And I understand you’ve changed your name since then. Ricky Frimwell? A much more interesting name. More history to it, I would say. History like the events at the Agglestone Rock. But I’d better not jump the gun. I’m sure all of that will come out over the next few days. You know, I just love this stage of a case, Mr Frimwell.’

  He scowled.

  ‘Every forward step we make, we seem to find new problems, new obstacles. Even evidence of other crimes. And sometimes real horrors, like in this case. Perpetrated by people like you. Because that’s what they are, Mr Frimwell. Horrors.’ She paused. ‘Then the fog suddenly clears and we find you, and we find witnesses, and we find evidence. And you cannot begin to imagine the joy that brings me. I think I’ll just ask this nice sergeant here to make the arrest statement and leave it at that. But I will be speaking to you again, Mr Frimwell.’

  Chapter 31: S & M

  Thursday Evening

  Charlie Duff wasn’t an avid devotee of bondage. It was Hazel who’d introduced him to S&M. She had always been keen to try out new experiences and she’d been a real enthusiast. S&M had brought out the dominant side of her character. Since her death three years earlier Charlie had occasionally returned to the club they used to frequent. His particular interest was carefully choreographed submissive experiences. Hazel had once suggested that this counterbalanced his normally violent nature. The next special event was due to take place that evening and Charlie had received numerous invitations by text. Several promised a “uniquely enjoyable experience.” He decided to go. He’d also received a couple of reassuring text messages from his nephew. Things were going well, so he felt he deserved an evening off to enjoy himself.

  He felt a bit foolish leaving his flat dressed in black vinyl trousers, so he took his outfit in a bag and changed at the venue. The setting was a large country house outside Bournemouth. He got a drink from the bar and took a stroll around to see what was going on. He wandered through the various rooms sipping his large glass of wine, finally settling to watch a rather portly middle-aged man bent over a chair and being spanked by two attractive brunettes. He felt the familiar sensation — a mix of fear and excitement.

  ‘You look as though you might enjoy that,’ said a soft voice in his ear.

  He turned to find himself looking at a slim, shapely woman. She was dressed in a tight, black, lace-up bodysuit covered by a diaphanous, silk caftan decorated with red butterflies and belted around the waist. Her long legs were encased in fishnet tights and knee boots. She wore black satin gloves that extended to her slim elbows. Her face was obscured by an ornate black and red mask, and he caught sight of wisps of dark hair peeping out from behind it. The most extraordinary thing about her was her eyes. Looking out at him from behind the mask were yellowish green slits, like a cat’s.<
br />
  ‘Not just yet. I need a few more drinks first.’

  ‘Just find me when you’re ready. I’ll be around.’

  She smiled and walked away. Definitely one to follow up. And those eyes. He could still smell her perfume.

  After a while, watching was no longer enough. None of the other women he saw came anywhere close to the one who’d whispered in his ear. He started looking for her, but couldn’t see her anywhere. He bought another drink and searched all the rooms. He was beginning to get a little desperate, making a nuisance of himself by peering closely at every woman he saw. He headed back to the bar and bought himself a large gin and tonic. Just his luck. He’d got an offer from the most gorgeous creature in the place, and had been stupid enough to turn her down. Now what? He took another large mouthful.

  ‘I’ll have one of those.’

  There she was, sliding in beside him. Where had she come from?

  ‘Okay,’ he said. He suddenly felt tongue-tied.

  He went to the bar and bought two gin and tonics.

  ‘Are you feeling a bit more in the mood now?’ she asked. He saw that she was holding a riding crop.

  ‘Yeah. Absolutely.’

  ‘Listen, it’s all a bit naff in here. Why don’t we go somewhere else where we’ll be more comfortable? Maybe your place, or mine? Then we can relax and really enjoy ourselves.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Well, which one? I’ve got decorators in, so my place smells of paint. What about yours? Where do you live?’

  ‘I’ve got a flat in Poole.’

  ‘Well, that sounds just fine. Let’s go in your car, shall we? I’ll leave mine here.’

  Duff swallowed his drink. He stood up too quickly and staggered slightly.

  ‘How many drinks is that you’ve had? Maybe I’d better drive. We wouldn’t want you getting stopped, would we? I don’t want my evening ruined.’

  They collected their coats and made their way to the car park. He indicated his car, a large black BMW.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Duff. ‘I can drive.’

  She stopped dead. ‘Are you contradicting me? Do you want me with you tonight or not?’

  He didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Hand over your keys.’ Her voice was sharp.

  He did so. She touched his lips with her gloved finger, then gave him a sharp slap across his cheek. Her perfume was making him dizzy. She unlocked the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. Duff settled in beside her, feeling confused. She drove expertly out of the parking area and into the main road. It took less than fifteen minutes to reach his flat near the seafront, yet she didn’t once exceed the speed limit. She drove the big car like a dream.

  ‘Whereabouts?’ she asked.

  Duff gave her directions, and she was soon pulling into the residents’ parking area.

  ‘Very nice,’ she said.

  ‘What do I call you?’ he asked.

  ‘How about Madame Butterfly?’ she suggested, and giggled.

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  They went inside.

  ‘It’s even nicer inside. What a lovely flat. It shows a woman’s touch . . . But maybe not recently.’

  ‘My wife died three years ago.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Now, let’s have another drink and you can show me the bedroom. Behave yourself well, and you’ll experience something tonight that will stay with you forever.’

  * * *

  She tied his arms and legs to the bed frame, using soft cords that she took from her bag. She pushed a small gag into his mouth. She brought her face close to his bulging lips, but then slapped his cheeks several times with her open palm.

  She knelt beside him on the bed, took hold of the riding crop and brought it down with a crack across his torso. He jerked forward convulsively, but the cords held.

  ‘Good knots,’ she said. ‘I learned them in the brownies. I worked hard for my badges, just like I did for everything else in my life. I was such a good girl in those days. Not like now.’

  She took a small knife out of her bag. Ignoring the panic in Duff’s eyes, she slit the front and arms of his shirt.

  ‘Worried, were you? Well, you have every reason to be. I can be really cruel when I want to. I’m not really Madame Butterfly at all. She used the knife on herself, didn’t she, rather than the man who deserved it?’

  She pulled his shirt away, and then slit his trousers. She wriggled back slightly, picked up the riding crop and lashed him without stopping for several minutes. He cried out through the gag.

  ‘More than you bargained for? Well, just you wait. You see, Mr Charlie Duff, I know who you are and what you’ve done. You didn’t expect that, did you? So you have every right to be scared.’

  He looked back at her, his eyes wide in terror.

  ‘Do you think they all felt like you’re feeling now? Your victims? But that’s enough talk. Actions speak louder than words, don’t they?’

  She beat his torso until the skin was crisscrossed with bright red weals. Then she sat back on her heels.

  ‘Well, Charlie, that was starters. Now for the main course.’

  She moved the knife back and forth in front of his eyes.

  ‘Try to relax. I’m not going to kill you, even if it seems like it. Would you like another drink? It’ll help deaden the pain. Nod once for yes.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Now this is the deal. I’ll take the gag out so you can have a drink. But if you make a sound I’ll cut your eye out. Is that clear? Behave yourself and you’ll keep your eyes and survive this. Do you understand?’

  He nodded. She removed the gag and held the glass of gin to his lips, supporting his head with one arm. He swallowed greedily. She forced the gag back into his mouth. Holding the knife like a pen, she carefully made a number of small incisions on his forearm. He was gasping for breath, snorting through his nose for air. The lower part of his face was coated with tears and snot.

  ‘I’ll explain what I’m doing. It reads, “Deut. 32, 35.” You have got a bible, haven’t you? Well, if you look it up, you’ll find that it says: “Vengeance is mine, and recompense, for the time when their foot shall slip; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and their doom comes swiftly.” Quite apt, don’t you think?’

  Duff felt something cold and smooth on his skin. She was applying ointment to the cuts.

  ‘Wouldn’t want you to get an infection, Charlie. I just want the scars there, though they’ll probably fade in time. I thought about a tattoo but it would take too long. I don’t want you to think I’m copying Lisbeth Salander either, even though she is one of my heroines.’

  She paused.

  ‘We’ll both have a short rest now. We need a few minutes to gather our thoughts, don’t we? I need to stretch my legs before dessert. I think I saw a kitchen directly ahead as we came in. Is that right? I’ll need some kitchen towels. And I need another gin and tonic, just a small one. I’ll take the glass away with me if you don’t mind. There’ll be not a trace of me left behind, to paraphrase Mr Paxton.’

  She left the room for a few minutes. Duff’s breathing slowed. He began to wonder if his ordeal was nearly over. He tested the strength of his bonds, but they were well secured. He let his arms relax and tried to calm his racing thoughts.

  She returned to the room and clambered back onto the bed. Under each of his wrists she placed some folded towels.

  ‘Now, Mr Duff, you mustn’t wriggle during dessert. Not if you want to stay alive. Keep your hands and arms absolutely still, because I’d rather not sever a major blood vessel. Do you understand?’

  He nodded. He watched, terrified, as she reached into her bag. She took out what appeared to be a small, slim case for reading glasses. She opened it and extracted a surgical scalpel.

  ‘Just a small nick on each wrist, Charlie. It won’t hurt very much, but you must stay very still. I’ll be very thoughtful and smother each cut in antiseptic ointment like I did
your arm. That’s kind of me, isn’t it? Then I’ll finish off with some surgical tape. Not like you, Charlie. You dumped the bodies of those dead girls out in a field, for the worms and the bugs to work on their cuts and slashes. For the mould and mildew to infect the injuries you gave them. So you’re really lucky, aren’t you? Are you going to nod for me?’

  He nodded as hard as he could.

  ‘I’m sure the police will be doing their job, Charlie. I’m sure they’re getting closer and closer to you. But I have to make you suffer. It’ll keep me sane, stop me going mad because of what you did to me, my family and friends, and to so many others. But I want to see you brought to justice. I want to see you splashed across the papers, shown up as the monster you are. I want you in prison for the rest of your life, because that’s where you belong, locked up in a stinking cell. I’m just sorry it won’t be a medieval dungeon, stinking of putrid ooze, where you could rot away to a pile of pus . . . Anyway. On with the job.’

  Duff felt a sharp cut to his left wrist, followed by a painful twinge, then nothing. This was repeated on the other side. He turned his head and saw that she was covering his wrists with surgical tape.

  ‘There,’ she said. ‘All over. But I’d better explain what I’ve done, hadn’t I? You probably don’t feel anything? Is that right?’ He nodded. ‘Well, that gives you the clue, I’m sure. I’ve severed the nerves in your wrists. Just think, no arthritic pain in your hands or fingers. What a blessing for you in your old age. The downside is, of course, no movement either. Well, we can’t have everything, can we, Charlie? At least it will be almost impossible for you to pick up a knife or gun again. Your bullets have altered and shattered more lives than you knew. You never had children, did you, Charlie? That’s a good thing. They’d have been like the spawn of the devil.’

  He squirmed and grunted into the gag.

  ‘I really don’t want to hear you, Charlie. It’s too late anyway. I’ve done it. Now, I’ll just take my stuff and get out of your life. I don’t expect we’ll ever meet again, so can I express my pleasure at such a rewarding evening? Oh, and I’ll make sure someone is here to find you in the morning before your cleaner arrives. I don’t want to spoil her day. But I’m afraid it won’t be anyone you can manipulate or blackmail into helping you. Oh no. I’ll choose your rescuer carefully.’